


From a Whisper to a Scream

by flyicarus



Series: If Tomorrow Never Comes [2]
Category: Black Donnellys
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyicarus/pseuds/flyicarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy never expected to come out of this alive, and as it turns out, his role of caretaker is reversed in the wake of the multiple homicide that ends with him owning the neighborhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From a Whisper to a Scream

It wasn't like he had never handled a gun before, like he had never felt the cool metal in his hands or the heavy weight of it in his palm – even heavier after he had  _killed someone_  – but this was different. He had, after all, just committed a multiple homicide, he had broken the law and he had gotten Kevin involved. But getting his brother involved, that wasn't directly his fault. Kevin offered to go, Kevin said he was going wherever he was going and that is all there was to it. And Tommy knew better than anyone that when Kevin made up his mind about something ain't nothing that could change it.

And really, Tommy had never expected to come out of this alive. He came to kill Sal and Hughie, because the first wanted to kill his brother and the second sold Jimmy out, but then he ended up killing that guard. He was fine with dying, really. He would save Jimmy, he would save them all. And wasn't that what he had been trying to do since he had crushed Jimmy's leg all those years ago? Since he had started walking the straight-and-narrow? He didn't know what he expected, really. Maybe something like in the comic books, when an army comes out of nowhere, out of the ceiling almost – can you imagine, he thought. Italians out of a fucking ceiling.

"Tommy?" Kevin's voice, his hand on Tommy's shoulder, shaking him out a daze. "Tommy. We have to go, man. The police, the Italians, whoever-the fuck. They're gonna be here, ya know that. Tommy—" A pause, and then, "Fuck's sake."

Kevin's hands took the gun out of Tommy's hand, wiped it down on his sweater and dropped it on the floor at their feet. He grabbed Tommy's arm and pulled him out of the room, out into the hall (step over the dead Italian guard, nice job there Tommy, you're a Donnelly after all) and Kevin hated himself for thinking that. Because Tommy is his brother, and didn't Kevin promise himself that he would take care of him, for once to make Tommy better? And now  _this_.

The other Italians, dead and blood seeped out onto the sidewalk, greeted them as the two brothers escaped onto the street. Tommy took a deep breath; his lungs were burning, they felt like he had been trapped underwater or some shit. Like he was drowning on dry land, like he couldn't fucking  _breathe_. And he could still smell the metallic tang of the gunpowder, and for once Tommy didn't want to look down at his artist's hands because he knew that instead of the pale white they usually were (what the fuck are ya, Tommy, Jimmy would say, a ghost?) they would be a dark and terrible red.

He helped Kevin tug them into the doorway of Sal's place, and they closed the door behind them. Then, as echoes of bullets in the empty night ran through Tommy's mind, and promises made and broken and renewed ran through Kevin's, they started their way to the Firecracker. Or to the hospital. Or to home. To wherever the night would take them, because honestly, after tonight—neither of them knew where they were going.

They had barely made it past two blocks before Tommy started this thing, this little thing where he'd take deep breaths and sniffle like he was a little kid after someone had taken away his favorite toy. And Kevin, what he hated more than little kids crying was his brothers crying, and what he hated even more than that was Tommy crying. "C'mere," he said, as he tugged Tommy into an alley only a few feet away. It was dark except for the halo of light a streetlamp set of at the head of the alley, and this shit was so fucked up – Kevin had never killed anyone before either, why didn't he feel anything? Why wasn't he crying, why was he only concerned about Tommy?

Kevin pulled Tommy close as they both slid to the ground in the alley, leaning against the cold brick. Tommy grabbed a fistful of Kevin's sweater as he buried his face in the fabric and let out a sob. It was quiet, restrained, but Kevin could feel his sweater getting wet and Tommy hadn't cried since they were kids and they talked about when Jimmy's leg got crushed by that car. And he knew that he was the only one that Tommy had ever told the truth about that goddamn accident, and what a clusterfuck this was. Tommy Donnelly should never cry.

"What have I done, Kevin, what have I done, I've killed people and I'm—"

"You're fine, Tom. You're gonna be okay," Kevin said. He tried to be sure, tried to sound it, because right now that was what Tommy needed. He wasn't entirely sure that everything  _would_  be okay, because Jimmy had just been pinched for stealin' that truck and they had just killed a fuckload of Italians, and Seanie was in the hospital. But they were together, right? And everything would be okay. Eventually, everything would be okay.

"What do I do now, what happens now. I never wanted this for me. Not for any of you, especially not you, and now…" Tommy trailed off, and his hands stopped their clutching at Kevin's sweater. He absently wondered, if only for a moment, why Kevin liked sweaters. He also wondered when he had stopped crying, and when Kevin's hands had tangled themselves in his hair. That sounded so fucking _girly_ , but he liked it. And how twisted is that, when Kevin's his brother and he saw that crucifix as his head rose and knew that what he was about to do was sacriledge.

The Donnelly brothers have known their fair share of women, and no one would ever deny that. Seanie had them all beat, having never been single since the fourth grade. They just had trouble  _keeping_ the women, that's all. But they were fine with that, because practically since they were each in the cradle there had only been three women in their lives. Their Ma, the Virgin Mary, and Jenny Reilly. Now, the Donnelly brothers weren't overly religious. They didn't go to church much, and Tommy often reckoned that if they had they'd have turned out differently. Maybe Jimmy wouldn't be so bitter about his gimpy leg, and Seanie wouldn't be such a fucking womanizer, and Kevin wouldn't gamble so much – and maybe he wouldn't want to kiss his brother.

His mouth found Kevin's, soft and warm, and when for a moment he didn't kiss back Tommy felt like the most broke Luck-of-the-Irish bastard on this earth. Because honestly, how lucky can you  _feel_ when you kiss your brother and he doesn't kiss you back, and you've just killed a fuckload of Italians, and your brother's sitting behind the chainlink with handcuffs on, and another is laying in a hospital bed all fucked up? How lucky can you feel?

"What the  _fuck_ , Tommy?"

Tommy was frozen, couldn't say anything. He stared at Kevin, and he stared back with the most curious expression on his face – like how he looked when he was deciding how much he was gonna bet on a game of cards or whatever-the-fuck else he betted on. And right now, Tommy would give anything to go back, back to the wake when he was just arguing with Kevin over how much he owed to Louie Downtown but that's when all this shit started so maybe he should go back further. But Tommy decided, well actually Tommy didn't decided,  _Kevin_  did – because Kevin wrapped his hand around the back of Tommy's neck and pulled him in only a little bit roughly, and kissed him. Kissed him back, tongue and scrape of teeth, his other hand flat against Tommy's jacket and a firm pressure that kept him against the warm heat of Kevin's body.

"We should," Kevin took a deep breath, tried to get back on track with coherent thought because this shouldn't have happened, but it did, and what happens next. "We should get back to the hospital. Check up on Seanie, yeah?"

Tommy pulled away from where he had been resting his head against the crook of Kevin's neck. "Yeah," he said softly. "We should get back. We wouldn't want Ma to worry. Besides," he continued, and he hated himself for this even while he was saying it, "I told Jenny I'd come back."

Kevin pushed Tommy away gently, pulled them both up off the alley floor. They were probably dirty as fuck-all. They'd need to stop at the bar, clean themselves up because if they went to the hospital and Frankie was there, or if their Ma or Jenny started asking questions and then heard about what happened – They'd be screwed.

And Jenny? He really tried not to hate her for her being a reason Tommy was gonna go back to that hospital, but it just didn't work out that way. And what did she know, anyway. She had never seen Tommy with blood on his hands, Tommy crying and weak, Tommy whimpering into a mouth and clutching at the fabric of a shirt. She had never seen that. Kevin stopped himself, stopped himself from thinking that because Jenny was a good girl. That's why Tommy liked her. That's why all the Donnelly brothers liked her. Hell, Kevin thought, if I made a promise to Jenny to come back even I'd keep it.

"Let's go, Tommy," he said heavily. "I'm with you."


End file.
